


Kill Will Volume I

by WednesdayAddams1987



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Not Serious, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 12:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayAddams1987/pseuds/WednesdayAddams1987
Summary: The idea for this came to me while I was writing certain elements of my other fic (A Case of You). This short passage is intended mainly as a trial chapter: a taste of things that could follow if people like it. So, if you want to see more of this story please do let me know in the comments and/or on Twitter.See notes at the end for further ideas.Thanks.





	Kill Will Volume I

**Author's Note:**

> 'For those regarded as warriors, when engaged in combat the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior's only concern. Suppress all human emotion and compassion. Kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself. This truth lies at the heart of the art of combat.'
> 
> \- Hattori Hanzō

As I lie in my timber tomb, trying to will my limbs out of entropy, I can see the faces of the cunts that did this to me and the dicks responsible. Members all of Wentworth Correctional Facility. When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing His will. For the greater good.

That treacherous, junkie whore. Who knew she would be capable of such concentration, such Machiavellian foresight? I didn’t know her kind were capable of such patience...such guile.

I was a moron to trust her in the first place, of course. I know that’s what you’re thinking...and you’d be correct.

As with Bea Smith, I seriously underestimated the cunning of a woman scorned. They would have me pay for that mistake with my life.

I suppose I really should have expected it from Smith. Not that she was anywhere near my equal. **Lord** no. More that her ideology was far too powerful and all consuming for her to survive it. I should have known that. I should have seen her pompous, egocentric seppuku coming, but I was too full of my own conceit. Too consumed with that throbbing thirst; her last words abridging what should have been an exquisite, well-earned release. 

Then there's Vera. My dear Vera. That fragile, needy little woman inspired a thirst of quite a different flavour. Of course, she turned out to be just as filthy as the rest of them. One wonders what part she had to play in this betrayal? Did she gleefully consign me to this dusty tomb? Or did she just go along with it like she always does; nowhere near enough backbone to bear the details.

Either way, I allowed both women to triumph. Not with force, cunning or intelligence, but with emotions. Emotions lead to mistakes.

Such nebulous intemperences, far surpassing any medicament, both in lure and incapacitation. Papa always said they were weakness. Beating me when I was content, then again when I cried. He wanted a loyal, unfeeling foot soldier; he created a broken monster. I think he knew that in the end. I saw the realisation dawn over his gaping eyes, as I buried his own blade to the hilt in his iron heart. I was surprised by how soft he was; once the fibrous intercostals had yielded to me, the sword slid through his viscera like jelly. 

As easily as his liberally lubricated ‘manhood’ had entered me. He was so thrilled when he finally got the chance to have his way with me; what a shame he didn’t realise it was _I_ who would be defiling him. Admittedly, enduring his greasy little member was, to put it mildly, utterly revolting, but so very worth it. I had to be very patient, to grit my teeth, until I was sure he was near. That was the most delicate part. Fortunately he rendered the guessing unnecessary, crudely announcing his impending emission to me, giving me just enough time to retrieve the Tanto concealed in the dress he had been too hasty to remove. The look on his face as I robbed him of his last orgasm was...well...I’m sure you can imagine. The irony was _delicious_. 

As the hot beads of his dwindling life mottled my skin, a rather startling need stirred my loins. Now, I have never been remotely aroused by a man, before, during or after this incident, but I was more than willing to take advantage of his post-mortem stiffness. Yes, I realise you’re probably gagging with disgust at this point; few have the heart or the stomach for my _particular_ proclivities. So try to think of it like this: after a lifetime of him treating me like a piece of meat to tenderize, I reduced him to even less. Nothing but a lifeless toy for me to use. Anyway, I digress…

I know Vera wasn’t present at the burial. I would have been able to detect her perfumed astringence, even over the revolting musk of that great, hulking ape.

Yes...I’d recognise his Neaderthalite cologne anywhere. 

Will...Will Fucking Jackson.

Not content with simply killing my Jianna...my sweet Jianna...the only purity I’d ever find and the only love I’d ever know. No...not content with just destroying my soul he has the nerve to try to kill me too. Too pathetic to do the deed himself of course; I suppose he hopes that time will do that for him.

Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we? 

An old mentor of mine - who, by pure coincidence, also happened to go by the name of Bea - once spent a summer in Korsakov teaching me, among other things, the three inch punch technique. When employed correctly the move can be used to break through solid wood. Now, I know what you’re thinking: breaking through a single plank of wood is one thing, but punching my way out of a thick coffin followed by six feet of compacted earth is quite another. I would have thought so too, except if Bea is to be believed, she owes her life to doing the very same. 

Of course, at the age of 16 I was sure she was joking, or lying. Once a rather gullible child, I was determined no one would get such nonsense past me. Yet now, I find my life depending on her honesty. 

I doubt she ever envisioned me in this position. I’m really not quite sure _what_ plans she had for me, since our time together was cut short so abruptly. Killing your father is one thing, but when he’s as entrenched as mine was in the KGB, it pays not to stick around.

I last saw Bea on the day I fled to Australia; a little before my 18th birthday. I’ve no idea if she’s even still alive, though if she saw me now she’d laugh and lay the blame squarely at my feet. She was never one to pull her punches.

I have to admit the irony is rather galling. Here I am, buried somewhere in the Australian outback with only one thing on my mind: revenge.

If I achieve anything else in this life it must be this: to kill Will.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got this far then I hope you like what you've read, or at least think it has potential.
> 
> It's not supposed to be taken seriously; as such I will be taking liberties with events from both canons if it suits the story, though I will always strive to write canon characters as authentically as possible. At the moment I only have plans to include Beatrix Kiddo from Kill Bill, since most of the other main characters ended up dead! However, there might be a place for Hattori Hanzō, B.B. Kiddo and perhaps the daughter of Vernita Green.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic you are to assume that Beatrix Kiddo is older than Joan Ferguson, and that all the events of Kill Bill took place before they met, which is when Joan was a teenager. Joan and her father are still Russian, but are also devotees of Japanese martial arts, culture and philosophy.


End file.
